


When The Boo Breaks, We Fix It; or, Keep F@#king That, Chicken

by Anonymous



Category: Animaniacs, Fake News FPF
Genre: Community: newskink-meme, Crack, Crossover, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 06:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Original prompt: Aasif Mandvi/Larry Wilmore, Animaniacs crossover. Aasif is the only one who realises the new correspondent is a chicken. Larry just thinks he's jealous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When The Boo Breaks, We Fix It; or, Keep F@#king That, Chicken

Larry narrowed his eyes over the pair of cards held closely in his hand. One ace, one king. With a king and a four on the table, he was one lucky deal away from having a very solid hand.

Unfortunately, the new correspondent had a _fantastic_ poker face.

"Hit me," said Larry, with what he considered to be picture-perfect nonchalance.

John, who insisted that he was sure to start winning one of these days because being English gave him a natural affinity with royalty, handed another card to each of them, looked at his revised hand, turned slightly grey, and made a strangled squawking noise. Larry raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, all right!" cried John. "I fold."

Larry picked up the new card, and schooled his face into the expression of pained tolerance that he had honed to perfection through years of watching white co-workers try to dance. Two pair, aces high! The new guy would have to be a lucky man indeed to beat that. The new guy....

The new guy hadn't even picked up his card.

How could he possibly be that confident? What kind of tremendous hand did he have, that he didn't even need to look at the fifth card to know he was staying in the game? Unless. Unless he was bluffing. You couldn't possibly be that strong with a king and a four and two other cards, especially when Larry knew he held one of the remaining kings. He had this in the bag. He had to!

And yet. And yet, there was something about the new guy's blank face, the spark of a truly predatory look in his eyes....

"I fold," sighed Larry, feeling a great weight lift from his shoulders as he put down his hand and John shoveled the ever-growing pile of bets over to the new guy's side of the table. "Whoo, that's a relief! I'm getting too old for this kind of stress. What was your hand? Come on, put me out of my misery."

The new correspondent cocked his head, as if he were so far above these kinds of petty worries that he couldn't imagine why Larry bothered.

"You already won, it can't hurt to show me." Reaching across the table, Larry flipped over the cards...

...to reveal a two, a jack, and a nine. They weren't even in the same suit.

Larry gaped for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. "That was classic!" he exclaimed, clapping the victorious correspondent on the shoulder. "Truly, I have met my match. You have got to tell me where you learned to play like that. Hey, Aasif!" he added, turning to the nearby desk, where the Senior Vindaloo Correspondent had retreated in a futile effort to get some actual work done. "You gotta come see this, man. It's crazy."

"You know what else is crazy?" replied Aasif without looking up from his laptop. "The new guy is a giant chicken!"

"Aasif!" yelped John, scandalized. "How _can_ you be so rude? Each correspondent is a valued member of our team! How would you like it if someone called _you_ a giant chicken?"

"But I'm not one!" protested Aasif. "Have you even looked at the guy? He's a chicken, I tell you!"

"Buck-kaw?" said the new correspondent, looking at Larry in confusion.

"Don't listen to him." Larry shook his head sympathetically. "He's just jealous because you cleaned him out in the first hand."

 

***

 

"The dig has turned up what some archaeologists are calling a priceless artifact in terms of learning more about our nation's colonial history. But state officials looking to cut costs are starting to weigh the merits of cutting off their funding altogether. To discuss the proposed measures, we turn to our Senior Financial Correspondent, Aasif Mandvi, and our Senior Digging Up Stuff In The Dirt Correspondent, Tom Bookaw. Aasif, what's your take on this situation?"

"Well, Jon, it's my opinion that Americans have a skewed view of what constitutes 'history' in the first place," said Aasif, wearing his Team Dirt-Cheap T-shirt with pride. "Me, I grew up in the United Kingdom, where you can't so much as dig the foundation for a new McDonald's without shattering the only fragment of pottery dating from the era of King Miltonshire IV."

"I'm sorry, Aasif, I have to interrupt you -- there were really four King Miltonshires?"

"As far as you know. My point is, Jon, here in the US you'll have archaeologists becoming practically orgasmic over finding some two-hundred-year-old teacup. You don't need teacups to learn what life was like for New Yorkers two hundred years ago. We still have their diaries! You can just read them!"

"That's a very good point, Aasif. Tom, do you have a rebuttal to that?"

The new correspondent, in a matching T-shirt labeled simply Team Dirt, replied, "Buck-kaw."

"I don't know why you're even asking him for an opinion in the first place," grumbled Aasif. "I mean, he's just a giant chicken."

"Kaw?"

"Now, Aasif, I know you feel strongly about this, but I'm sure you can make your point without resorting to name-calling," chided Jon. "I believe we have some footage of Tom in the field investigating this, actually. Chuck, can we roll that?"

The screens around the studio displayed a clip of the new correspondent, a tie around his neck and a press badge pinned to his chest, following a mud-spattered archaeologist around a fenced-off dig site. Every few steps he scratched in the dirt, occasionally bobbing down to peck at it.

"Very solid reporting, Tom," said Jon once the cameras were back on them. "Aasif," he added, tapping his pen against the desk, "did you, ah, did you make it down to the site, at all?"

"No. No, I did not. But--"

"Tell me something, Aasif. Do you have something in particular against Tom, or are you just trying to distract us all from the fact that you didn't research your assigned topic as thoroughly as he did?"

"I'm not trying to distract you from anything!" cried Aasif in despair. "I'm trying to figure out why none of you can see that he's a chicken!"

"Buck-kaw," said the new correspondent, bobbing his head.

"That's very gracious of you, Tom, but I think Aasif needs to understand that he can't bully other correspondents just to make himself look better. Aasif, you're bumped down to the Charming Local Stories About Kittens In Trees desk until I say otherwise."

"But--!"

"No buts! We'll be right back."

 

***

 

Olivia popped up at Aasif's side in the break room, where he was making his grandmother turn over in her grave by heating up a couple of samosas in the microwave. "So I heard you're in the doghouse," she observed with a roguish smirk. "Or should I say the chicken coop?"

"Don't remind me," grumbled Aasif, glaring daggers at the other side of the room, where Larry was deep in conversation with the new correspondent and appeared to be having the time of his life.

"Well, normally I think jealousy is such an ugly thing, but in this case I don't blame you," said Olivia with a wistful sigh. "He's amazing, isn't he?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" exclaimed Aasif. "I mean, sure, Larry's brilliant and funny and has a smile so disarming that you can never get mad at him even when he's being smug, but amazing? You really want to go that far?"

"Uh, I was talking about Tom." Olivia squinted at him, nose wrinkling. "Hey, wait a second. You have the hots for Larry, don't you?"

"Hey now. I didn't say that."

"But you're totally thinking it." The younger correspondent grinned. "That explains it! You're jealous _of_ Tom! No wonder you're always picking on him. I mean, how else are you supposed to compete? And to think, people used to say they hired _me_ for the sex appeal."

"But -- that's not -- _he's a_ \--"

Aasif spluttered to a halt, painfully aware that the words would make no difference. The microwave beeped quietly to an audience that wasn't listening to it either. Across the room, Larry burst into whole-hearted laughter at something the new guy had said.

"Okay, that's it," snapped Aasif, striding across the room. "Hey!" he declared, cutting off the conversation and pointing at each speaker (or clucker) in turn. "You. You. Strip poker. With me. Five minutes."

He stalked off towards Larry's office, which had enough cards to occupy the passengers of a small aircraft.

"Buck-kaw?" asked the new correspondent, cocking his head.

Larry shrugged. "A challenge is a challenge," he said, and in tandem they followed him out.

Lighting up like a non-denominational holiday store display, Olivia skipped after them.

 

***

 

A dozen hands later, Aasif was down to his boxers, undershirt, and left sock. Larry still had his slacks on, but was bare-chested, a fact which Aasif found himself not inclined to complain about. A fully-dressed Jon kept watch over their clothes from the sidelines, as had been standard practice ever since that time Sam crept in mid-game and made off with everybody's pants. A fully-dressed Olivia sat beside him, grinning like a kid in a candy shop, if kids were adults and candy were sex.

The new correspondent had yet to lose a hand. He was, however, only wearing a tie. Aasif considered trying to see if anyone else thought there was something odd about this, but decided to wait. Either they would see the error of their ways soon anyway, or they never would.

"I fold," said Larry ruefully, and stood up to slink out of his pants.

Aasif was too distracted by the sight to notice at first when Jon said, "All right, turn over your cards."

"You heard the man," said Olivia, draping herself across the new correspondent's back. "Flip 'em." Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she turned over his cards.

Two pair, jacks high.

Dragging his eyes away from Larry's legs, Aasif allowed himself a broad smirk as he revealed his own hand.

Royal flush.

"Buck-kaw?" said the new guy, tilting his head anxiously.

"Sorry, man," said Larry, with a bright smile that suggested he wasn't sorry about this at all. "Lose the tie."

"Let me help you with that," added Olivia breathily, earning a jealous sulk from Larry...and Jon?...as she loosened the correspondent's tie and slid it off of his neck.

Olivia stared.

Larry stared.

Jon stared.

"Ohmigawd," breathed Olivia.

"He's a..." gasped Larry.

"...giant...chicken," stuttered Jon.

"HAH!" shouted Aasif, as Olivia leaped out of the embrace and threw herself back against the wall, shuddering all the while. "I told you so!"

"Kaw?" said the chicken.

"I can't believe I hired a chicken," blurted Jon.

"I can't believe I _lost at poker_ to a chicken," lamented Larry.

"Ohmigawd, ohmigawd, ohmigawd," added Olivia, frantically brushing chicken feathers off the front of her hot pink dress.

"If you guys are interested," added Aasif, pulling out a freshly sharpened kitchen knife, "I have a fantastic recipe for chicken vindaloo."

The others perked up. Aasif took a step forward. The knife glinted.

The chicken fled.

 

***

 

On the dark late-night streets of New York City, a lone chicken wandered in the direction of the city limits. Exhausted from the frantic chase, he reflected once again on the lesson that seemed to be a recurring theme in his long and eventful life:

_You wear a disguise to look like human guys; but you're not a man, you're a chicken, Boo._


End file.
